


Until I Met You

by an_ardent_rain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/an_ardent_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's lived in the same building for years but he's never really gotten to know any of his neighbors.  There's Mrs. Davenport next door and creepy trenchcoat dude down the hall.  But after discovering that said creepy neighbor is actually a writer on Dean's favorite show, suddenly he's a little more interested in making nice.  Castiel Novak is a misanthropic loner with family issues and a shaky relationship with his faith.  It's just chance that they live in the same building, but meeting is something that changes them both for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until I Met You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexuallydisoriented (Cheezalot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheezalot/gifts).



> FIRST: I don't know when this story will be revealed, but if I don't manage to edit this out before then, there may be a few edits coming. I know, I know - that's pretty awful for a gift, but the story's finished! And it's here, in all it's glory. I'm just waiting for the last bit to come back beta'ed.
> 
> SECOND: I kind of bit off way more than I could chew with this idea, and I didn't give myself time to flesh things out like I wanted. Writing a story on a deadline is always hard for me, because when I write I tend to come up with a thousand different ideas, and put in all these different little threads if I don't have a solid outline from the start. So there might be a few dropped ideas here and there, but I hope it doesn't detract too much. It's also kind of Dean-centric, which I didn't really mean to happen either. There is sex, though, which for me would be worth it, ha ha.
> 
> I used the "they've been living in the same building for years" prompt mostly, though I did merge it a little bit with another. Anyway. Sorry it's a bit scattered; hope you enjoy!

"Dean," Charlie said, her exasperation clear even through the phone, "please don't tell me you're going to spend _another_ Saturday night alone in your boxers watching re-runs of _Doctor Sexy_." 

"Okay." Dean took a long, loud drink of his coke, sucking up a mouthful through his straw. "I won't tell you."

"Dean." She sighed and he rolled his eyes, pushing open the door to his building with one shoulder. "As queen of Moondor I am _ordering_ you to -"

"Shit!" Dean interrupted. "Hang on a second, Charlie." He knelt down and set his drink and then his phone on the floor, surveying the damage. Somebody, not looking where they were going, had barreled into him and knocked his dinner all over the floor. The beef and broccoli seemed safe, but the carton of fried rice had opened and was mostly spread out unforgivingly across the filthy tile of the foyer. 

"I'm sorry," a deep, halting voice said above him. "It was an accident." 

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see the midsection of someone male, dressed in a suit and worn tan trench coat. "Yeah, well." He sighed and started trying to scoop the rice into one pile. There was some left in the carton, but not much. Not enough to salvage for a meal.

The man cleared his throat. "I... Perhaps I could reimburse you for - "

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, gruff. He just wanted to get the damn rice in the trash and get up to his apartment. He didn't need clumsy neighbors who gargled rocks interrupting his _perfectly acceptable_ evening of sitting alone in his boxers watching reruns of _Doctor Sexy_ with actor and director commentary. Eat that, Charlie. "I forgive you. Whatever."

"I could... help you clean up," he said, and even though he was behind him Dean could feel the impatience radiating off the man. He certainly didn't want to help, whatever he said.

"Like I said, don't worry about it." Dean grabbed a big, kind of disgusting feeling handful of rice and threw it in the brown paper bag his food had come in. "You seem like you're in a hurry, pal. I think I can handle this on my own."

"Well once again," the man said, already at the door. "I apologize."

Dean rolled his eyes and dumped the bag of rice in the trash. He grabbed his other carton and his styrofoam cup, ready to salvage what was left of his supper. "Sorry," he said to Charlie, sliding the phone back up to his ear. "Some douche ran into me and spilled my damn dinner all over the floor."

"As unfortunate as that is," Charlie said, "maybe it's a sign? That you shouldn't sit alone at home and eat take-out for like the hundredth night in a row?"

"Or _maybe_ ," Dean said loudly, in a suddenly irritable mood, "It's a sign that I need better neighbors, since it turns out weird trench coat dude is both a creeper and clumsy as hell."

"Wait... who is weird trench coat dude?"

"The guy who ran into me," Dean replied. He fished down into his pockets and grabbed his keys. "He's the creepy dude from down the hall who always wears this raggedy trench coat. I think this is the first time we've actually spoken.” He unlocked the door and walked in, throwing his keys into the bowl on the little side table, kicking the door shut with his boot.

Dean could practically hear Charlie roll her eyes. “I see you've really taken my advice about getting to know your neighbors.”

“Hey,” he said as he pulled off his boots and sinks down onto the couch. “I... Talked to someone? At the mailbox yesterday. I did not get her name because apparently she had a boyfriend but she was pretty hot.” He tore open his chopsticks and dove into the undamaged container of beef and broccoli. “And what the hell are you getting on to me for? Do you know your neighbors?”

“Of course not,” Charlie said sweetly, “but I also have a social life. As in, I talk to more people than myself, Benny and your brother.”

“It doesn't count if half your friends are people on the internet.”

“You can't see me,” Charlie told him, “but I am making a very obscene gesture right now.”

Dean laughed. "Whatever, Charlie

 

Despite her best efforts, Charlie did not manage to convince Dean to come out and do anything, not even after dangling Benny in front of him as an added bonus. 

It wasn't as though he didn't want to spend time with his friends – few though they may be. It was damn hard to break through Dean's defenses and once someone did it they were stuck with him for life. But after a long, hard day at work – which was pretty much just about every day for him – he just didn't want to do shit but go home and sleep. And not see people. As a general rule, Dean didn't even really like other people. On second thought, Charlie might be right about him. It probably wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to socialize more.

But he was always busy. After years of hard work and finally working through his (as Sam would have it, many _many_ ) issues – both with his father and with his own pride – he recently opened his own garage and he was damn proud of what he'd accomplished. His mechanical skill was one of the few things he was willing to admit he excelled at, and it was a very rewarding feeling to go to work everyday and do something he was great at, while getting paid to do it. 

But it was much more stressful than he'd initially thought. Not only did he have to sometimes have to bend to shitty customers, he had to worry about all the finances himself, worry about his other employees, and if things needed to be done he was the one to stay late and do them. It made him happy, made him feel like he was actually accomplishing something with his life. It did not, however, leave much time for dating. He had never told Charlie this, but there was another reason he rarely looked for more than a one night stand. His last relationship, with a woman named Lisa, had ended abruptly and though the split was mostly amicable, it had left him with scars. He was much happier not dating and just going home with someone anonymous every now and again rather than trying to start another relationship that he knew would only end badly.

He was nursing his third beer when he heard a knock on the door. He did a mental roll of all the people who not only knew where he lived but might also be free to visit. "Sam?" he called. "Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?"

There was no answer, and rolling his eyes Dean stood. Sam had his own damn key, he didn't see why he had to get up and answer the door when his brother could just come in. But when he looked out through the peephole there was no one there. He undid the latch and pulled the door open. Sitting right outside was a small cardboard container with a menu for Panda Express and a small white take-out carton. _Sorry again,_ the attached note read, in a hasty scrawl. _Accept this as recompense._

Dean scoffed. "What?" he said, picking up the note. It was... nice, he guessed, that creepy trenchcoat guy wanted to apologize, but it was a little sketchy just to leave food out in the hallway of an apartment building. Also a little creepy that he knew where Dean lived. With a sigh, Dean opened the carton, full of fried rice, and sniffed it. Well, it smelled fine at least. "What the hell," he said to himself, dragging the box inside and shutting the door. He was still hungry and Creepy's inclinations hadn't seemed to lean towards murder. As far as Dean could tell. He'd never even gotten a good look at him, but surely they screened people before they let them live in a building with so many other people in it. And kids. There were rules about criminals and kids. Dean propped his feet up on his coffee table and pulled the chopsticks he had out of the remains of his beef and broccoli. "Here's to living dangerously," he said. And he ate.

***

The next at work was hell. They were busy constantly and as soon as Dean had dealt with one crisis it seemed that another even bigger emergency came up. "Damn it," he said, finally sneaking away to his office to grab lunch. "I'm not going to make it through the day."

Chuck, the guy who helped out with pretty much everything not car related, gave him a shaky smile. "Uh... please don't leave, Dean. With just me the guys'll revolt." Dean grunted around a bite of his sandwich. Chuck cleared his throat and looked off to his left. "But there is something that I kind of needed to talk to you about. Um. Since we have some down time now."

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "What."

Nervously, Chuck ran a hand through his hair. "It's... well it's Adam."

Adam Milligan was Dean's half-brother. A half-brother he didn't find out he had until his dad was already six feet in the ground. The kid had been pretty messed up when he met Dean and Sam - no father, his mother killed by a drunk driver when he was just seventeen. John Winchester hadn't been around a lot, but at least he'd been around for his two older sons. From what Adam had said, he'd barely gotten to see John. And it killed Dean to admit it, even to himself, but he was jealous. Adam might not have seen John often, but John had always tried to make the visits count. Remembering his birthday, taking him out to baseball games, even just taking a picture or two with the boy. Dean had been lucky if John was sober enough to remember his name a lot of the time. 

"Shit," Dean said, putting down his food. "What's the problem this time?"

"Oh no! It's not... I mean, yes, it's a problem, but. Nothing major, you know. It's not a _problem_. He's in one of his bad moods again."

"Then why the hell are you bothering me about it, Chuck? Just tell him to get the stick out of his ass and put on a fucking smile."

"Yeah, but..." Chuck looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. When he spoke his voice was low. "He doesn't listen to me."

Dean was _really_ starting to wish he had just called in sick that day. "Look, Chuck," he said, stuffing the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. He'd just have to finish his goddamn lunch later. He came out from behind his desk and put a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Deal with it, okay man? I've got enough on my plate without you piling this shit on top of it, too." He wrapped an arm around Chuck's shoulders in faux-friendliness and pushed him towards the door. "So go out there and do your damn job, let me have five damn minutes of peace."

He locked the door as soon as Chuck was gone.

The rest of the day did not get any easier, and when closing time came around Dean had scarcely ever been more happy to go home. He thought about trying to talk to Adam, a thankless task if there ever was one, but he was exhausted and he didn't have it in him to even pretend to try and be patient. He'd do it tomorrow. Or he'd make Chuck do it. And inevitably when that didn't work, then he might try. Now, though, all he wanted to do was get something to eat and get home. He said goodbye to Chuck, who was finishing up some paperwork, and headed out to his car. He went to The Roadhouse, a little bar his dad's friend Ellen Harvelle owned. It was kind of a dive, but they served the best burgers in town. And even if he had to occasionally deal with Ellen and her daughter Jo's curiosity or well-meaning interference in his life, well... most of the time it was worth it.

"Hey Dean," Jo said, ready with a beer as soon as she saw him walk in.

"Not tonight," he said, waving the beer off. "At least not until I get home. Just wanted to pick up a burger."

Jo gave him a big grin. "Aww, can't stay? You hardly ever come see me anymore."

"You bothering our customers?" Ellen asked, coming around to the bar. She gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze and grabbed a clean cloth from a bin behind Jo. 

"Only the no-good types." She leaned towards Dean, her forearms resting on the bar. "He wants a burger," she said to her mother. "And fries. To go."

Ellen put her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised. "And?" she asked. She motioned towards the back. "Go make it."

Jo rolled her eyes, but dragged herself off the bar. "Yes ma'am." Dean winked at her and she flipped him off.

"Doing all right there, Dean?" Ellen asked. She wiped down the bar absently. "Haven't seen you in awhile, you know."

He shrugged, growing a little uncomfortable. "'M fine," he said. He clasped his hands together on the bar. "Just... busy."

"How's the garage doing?"

"Good," he said, looking away from her. "It's, uh, good. Really busy but. Mostly good."

"Good, huh?" Ellen gave him a look with a half-smile and Dean suddenly felt like a kid in school, like she almost didn't believe him. "Well that's great. Proud of you. Know your dad would be, too."

 _Shit._ "Oh, uh. Yeah, I'm..." He rubbed the back of his neck, hard. "It was a rough day. I better, uh. Get going. Real tired." He stood up and leaned over the bar, clearing his throat. "That burger ready yet, Jo?"

Ellen just gave him a smile. "Have a good night, Dean." 

He grabbed his food as soon as Jo'd packed it up for him, and headed back to his apartment. There was only one car in the parking lot, an old shitty cadillac with a body leaning into the trunk. Dean caught the tails of a familiar tan coat and rolled his eyes. Of course creepy trenchcoat guy would be there. It had been nice of him to replace part of the supper he'd ruined and Dean found himself wondering about the man. They'd been neighbors for as long as Dean had lived there, but he knew nothing about the guy. He didn't even know his name. Hell, he'd never had more than a glance at him so he didn't even know what he looked like. "Oh well," Dean thought to himself. It didn't matter, really. Not like he'd ever have cause to need his name anyway.

As soon as he got home, he immediately jumped into the shower. The water pressure sucked and the heat never lasted very long, but it was better than nothing. As he scrubbed the shampoo out of his hair and the day's grime sluiced off him under the spray he thought Yeah, it's a hell of a lot better than nothing. He put on a mostly clean pair of pajama pants and a soft, worn t-shirt and settled down onto the couch to enjoy his burger. It was a little cold but he was so hungry he didn't care. He didn't bother putting on the TV or anything, just ate, quickly and mindlessly. He'd finished supper and was lounging on the couch, trying to decide if it would be worth it to get up and climb into bed or if he should just crash on the couch, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he answered. "Why does everybody want to check up on me?" he asked in lieu of hello, having seen his brother's name on the caller ID. 

"Hey to you, too, Dean," Sam said, sounding half-amused. "And I'm not checking up on you. Maybe I just wanted to talk to you. It's been awhile." From Sam, that was almost as good as an "I miss you" and Dean grunted to disguise any shared sentiment. "Yeah." There was a moment of silence and then Sam cleared his throat. "I was calling for something, actually. I've got a night free next week and I wanted to see if you wanted to have dinner with me and Jess."

Dean hummed thoughtfully. "Jess? Your girlfriend, right?"

"Don't be stupid, Dean. You've met her."

"Yeah, but I still can't believe a great girl like that would ever want a sasquatch like you."

"Screw you, Dean," Sam laughed. "Do you want to come to dinner or not?"

"Uh, sure, I guess. Not like I have any other plans."

"Great." Sam sounded genuinely excited and it made Dean grin despite himself. "I haven't seen you in weeks, man. And Charlie says you've been avoiding her, too. Even Ellen wanted me to check in on you."

"I'm not avoiding anyone, Sam, I'm just... I'm busy. Okay?"

"Dean." Sam's voice was heavy. "You know I'm proud of you, right? For the garage? Your own business, man, that's great. But... If you ever need help or - "

"No," Dean said quickly, his fatigue suddenly fading into something sharp, something pointed. He didn't need help, it was _his_ business, _his_ life and damn it, he would do it on his own. "I don't need help."

"I'm not saying money, Dean. Not necessarily. But you know Bobby has experience with this, and - "

"I said no, Sam. Drop it." It was a fight they'd had before, several times, and Sam knew when his stubborn brother wasn't going to be reasoned with.

"Fine," he said, sighing. "I'll let it go. Just... take care of yourself, okay? And don't forget dinner next week. Tuesday at seven, all right?"

"Yeah, I'm putting it on my calender now. Bye."

"All right, Dean. Bye."

***

Dean had heard it so many times from so many people that it was hard to think maybe they weren't right. He was avoiding the world, letting all the stress he had built up start to overwhelm him. But that wasn't as terrible as everyone made it out to be, right?

That was the excuse he used to justify staying in again, ignoring a call from Benny, and another invitation from Charlie to go out. Instead, he started the newest season he had of _Doctor Sexy_. He'd already seen all the episodes of course, but since Sam had gotten him the boxset for his birthday he now had episodes with _commentary_. “Hell yes,” he said to himself, flipping through the menu. He put on the mid-season finale first, which was probably one of the best episodes of the whole series. He knew it was soap opery as hell – part of its charm, he'd tried to explain over and over again to Sam – but there had been resolution, a coherent plot, real character development. The director and one of the writers were doing the commentary and as dorky as he felt for it he was actually excited.

The episode blinked on in a flash of white hospital and Doctor Sexy himself came on the screen, reading something on a clipboard he was holding. And then the commentary started. He recognized the director, but the other voice, the one that must have belonged to the writer. He _recognized_ that voice. That voice, that deep, gravelly, unmistakable voice...

“Holy shit,” Dean said, wiping beer off his chin. “That's creepy trenchcoat dude.”

***

Charlie's phone rang for the third time and she finally decided that he was probably just going to keep calling until she answered. She gave her date a quick smile in apology and picked up her phone. “Dean, what do you want?" she hissed. "I thought I already told you I had plans. That I had invited you to take part in. Unless you are calling me because you changed your mind... ?”

“Charlie, remember I told you about creepy trenchcoat dude?"

"Uh... No? Not really?"

Dean sighed impatiently. "He lives in my building. He's... got a trenchcoat? He drives that beat-up caddy you always see when you come over."

"Okay, sure. Creepy trenchcoat guy. Let's say I do remember him from your obviously intimate friendship and the possibly two times you have ever mentioned him to me. You're bringing him up now, because why?"

Dean sucked in a breath. "The dude's a goddamn writer on _Doctor Sexy_! Charlie, I swear, I heard him on the commentary. And he lives in my building."

"Jesus, Dean, really? You needed to call and tell me this? First we need to address your terrible taste in television."

"Hey." 

He actually sounded offended and Charlie rolled her eyes. "I'm going to ignore any protests because, again, terrible television. The hotness of the actors does not make up for cheesy plots and ridiculously overwrought dialogue. Secondly. Please do not tell me you are going to try to talk to this person. You do not normally sound stalkerish, Dean, and though your issues are myriad and colorful that has never been one of them." Charlie paused. " _Please_ tell me you're not going to try to talk to him, Dean. You are adorable but also incredibly dorky when you go fanboy on anything."

"Come on, Charlie, what do you think I am, an idiot? I'm not a... crazy fan or anything. And I'm not going to try to stalk him. I like the show, yeah, but I'm not obsessed."

"Debatable."

"Very funny." Dean huffed. "But it's... it's really fucking _cool_ , Charlie, he writes for _Doctor Sexy_. And he lives in my building."

"And also apparently sports a creepy trenchcoat! Why are we spouting facts about this guy?"

"I'm not going to try to talk to him," Dean said, though from his tone Charlie could hear a definite _but_. "But a letter for him got put in my box by mistake and I mean... it would only be polite to return it to him, right?"

***

Dean knocked on the door. There was some scuffling inside and a voice irritably saying "Just a moment, Gabriel, I'm coming." The door opened, and in front of him stood one of the most gorgeous people Dean had ever seen. He was pale, with dark hair and blue eyes. Light stubble covered his jaw, and his full, pink mouth was turned down in an attractive frown. He was wearing only a pair of loose hanging plaid pajama pants, his waist trim and his chest lean with muscle. He stared at Dean for a few seconds, blinked, then slammed the door in his face. 

Before Dean could think more than a cursory "what the fuck" the door opened again and the same man stood in front of him, wearing a wrinkled shirt with only two buttons fastened, both in the wrong buttonholes. Now they he got a better luck at him, he was undoubtedly creepy trenchcoat guy, but Dean had never realized before just how damn attractive he was. _And_ , he couldn't help but remember, he was a writer on Dean's favorite show. He wrote for _Doctor Sexy_. Dean was having trouble remembering how to speak.

"Um. Hello," the man said, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Oh shit, Dean thought, that was adorable. "I was expecting... someone else."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Dean said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Right." He cleared his throat. "Look, I uh. My name's Dean. I live down the hall." He held up the letter he'd brought. This was addressed to your number, so..." He looked at the address on the letter and then back to the man. "I guess you're Castiel Novak?"

"Yes," he said, staring at Dean. There was a lot of eye contact going on and Dean wasn't sure if it was the whiskey he'd had or the guy's minor celebrity, but it was sort of doing it for him. "That was delivered to you by mistake, I take it?"

"That's right," Dean said. He handed the letter over. Christ, even the guy's hands were attractive, with long fingers and square palms. Dean felt a little sweaty, suddenly, and he wiped his hands on his jeans. "Just wanted to, ahh. Hand that over. In case it was important."

"It's probably junk," Castiel said, "but I appreciate the diligence all the same."

They stood there for another moment, not speaking, and it was moving quickly towards awkward. Castiel looked like he was about to say something, probably another thank you and goodbye, when Dean impulsively blurted out "Hey, you wanna come over for a drink sometime? I mean... I think you've lived in this building about as long as I have but we've never even had like a real conversation. I've got beer. If you're ever interested. My friend Charlie's always on me to try to get to know my neighbors, so." Dean shrugged, not really giving himself time to ask what the hell he thought he was doing. "Since you were... expecting someone - "

"Oh, not. Not really expecting," Castiel said quickly. He smoothed down his shirt and seemed to finally realize it was hardly better than no shirt at all. His fingers twitched at the buttons, trying to decide if it would be more socially appropriate to start undoing them and fix it or just leave the shirt like it was. "I thought... My brother, Gabriel, has a habit of dropping by unannounced. Since I hadn't made plans for tonight, I just assumed it would be him." He flashed a quick smile. "I'm not terribly disappointed that it wasn't."

Dean cleared his throat. "Great. Well, uh, since you don't have any plans tonight..."

It took a moment for Castiel to catch on. "Oh! Yes. Yes, I would be interested in that beer you mentioned. If you'll... give me a moment to get dressed."

It was halfway on Dean's tongue to tell him not to bother, but he didn't want to come on too strong. It was just a beer, no matter what hopes he might have gotten. "Sure." He nodded towards his door. "I'm right there when you get done."

Castiel went inside, and Dean went back to his apartment. He really had just wanted to return the guy's mail, maybe get a better look at him - he hadn't planned much further than that, and he certainly hadn't expected to actually ask him over. He hurried to tidy up what he could, throwing out a take-out bag, putting some clothes into the laundry basket, straightening up a few books and knick-knacks on his coffee table. It wasn't perfect, but it was presentable, so when Castiel knocked on his door a few minutes later he didn't feel embarrassed.

"Hey," he said, "come in. Sorry it's kind of a mess."

"Oh no," Castiel said, accepting the seat on the couch Dean silently offered. "It's fine. Looks lived in."

Dean laughed as he went to the fridge. "That's one way to put it." He pulled out two bottles and put them on the coffee table. "Beer, as promised." He took a seat on the other end of the couch and they both opened their bottles. The drinking kept their mouths busy for a moment, so the silence wasn't too awkward. Dean wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he'd invited him over, other than it had seemed like a good idea at the time. "So... It's Cas right?"

"Castiel, actually, but Cas is fine." He gave Dean a frankly dazzling smile, and Dean swallowed, trying to ignore the attraction clawing around in his guy. "And you're Dean? I've seen you around sometimes. You drive that old chevy, right? The impala?"

"My baby," Dean said proudly. He'd moved just a little closer on the couch. Easier to reach the coffee table that way he told himself. "My dad got her when he was around my age. Gave her to me a couple of years ago. Best fucking thing I own."

"I take it you like cars, then."

"Yeah, you could say that. I actually own my own garage." He looked down, picking at the label on the bottle. "It's a couple of blocks over, Winchester Auto Repair."

"That's yours? I've seen it before. Heard good things."

Dean felt his face heating up a little and he quickly changed the subject. "What about you man, what do you do?"

"I'm a writer," Cas said. Dean watched as he took a long drink of his beer, mouth wrapped around the open end of the bottle. "I work on a television program right now. It's... I don't know that it's that popular, really, you might never have heard of it. _Doctor Sexy_?"

Dean coughed, despite himself, and tried to look surprised. "Dude, _of course_ I've heard of that. I love that show. And you write for it? That's awesome. You're awesome."

Castiel looked down and smiled almost bitterly to himself. "The beer is great," he said, turning his now empty bottle between his palms, "but do you have anything a little stronger?"

***

A few shots later and Dean was ready to jump the guy. He was gorgeous, and funny, and - Dean could admit it - he had a really fucking sexy job. They'd been moving a little closer as time passed, and the more buzzed they got the flirtier things became. But Dean had just officially met the guy, and he wasn't sure if he was reading the signals right, if Cas was as interested as he was. He was interested, he was _very_ goddamn interested, but it was hard to tell if that interest was reciprocated, or if Cas was just a really smiley drunk.

He got his answer, though, when he was halfway through a story about something that'd happened at work and he noticed Cas was staring at his mouth. He paused long enough to lick his lips, and noticed Cas's eyes track the movement. He spread his legs a little, just enough to bump their knees together. Cas shifted and Dean wondered if he should just say screw it and kiss him right then.

"Looks like we've got enough for one shot left," Dean said, pouring the last remaining splash of tequila into the shot glass in front of him. He put the bottle down on the table and held the glass up to Cas. "You want it?"

Cas shrugged, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "Sure."

Dean didn't hand it to him, however, he grinned and tossed it back. "Whoops," he said, licking his lips again. "Don't know how you'll get it now."

Cas was staring at him, eyes dark, and the tension that had been building the whole time they'd been together had finally grown taut enough to snap. "I think," he said, moving closer, "that might know a way."

And Dean only had to wait a moment longer, wondering if his ploy had worked, before Cas leaned in and kissed him.

 _Christ_ , he thought, it was a hell of a kiss. Cas moved forward, leaning over him, pushing Dean back into the arm of the couch. Not that he minded, of course - not when Cas's mouth was hot on his, those full, plush lips exactly as sweet as Dean thought they would be.

"I don't usually do this," Cas said, between kisses. His hands were already working their way under Dean's shirt.

"Dude, so what," Dean said, fingers fumbling with shirt buttons. "You're doing it now, that's what counts."

Cas laughed a little, lightly, the air warm across Dean's face. He kissed down Deans jaw, moving to his neck and biting gently. "I'd always seen you around," he said, "but I never knew your name." His tongue, slick and hot and fucking perfect against Dean's skin, moving in little circles around where Cas had just bitten. "But..." He grunted as Dean pushed his shirt open and ran fingertips over a nipple. "I wanted to fuck you almost as soon as I saw you."

"Jesus." Dean grabbed a handful of hair at the back of his head and pulled Cas's face back to his. He kissed him, hard, his tongue pushing into Cas's mouth. "You can't say shit like that, man. It's too goddamn hot."

Castiel growled, his tongue curling around Dean's, pushing back and fighting for control of the kiss. Dean was happy to let it go, feeling one big hand trailing down his side. Cas got to his fly and made quick work of the zipper, shoving his hand down into Dean's boxers. He grabbed Dean's cock and Dean moaned, pushing his hips into Cas's warm grip. They fumbled a little with their clothes, both too impatient to stop just to get naked. Smooth skin would be great, would be better - and Dean's head swam with thoughts of the pale expanse of Castiel's chest he'd seen when he first knocked on his door - but expediency was winning out over anything else. They needed _now_. 

Dean managed to push the shirt off Castiel's shoulders, and he worked his hands down to waistband of his pants. Cas was a motherfucking pro at handjobs, apparently, pumping Dean in rough, dizzyingly good rhythm. It felt amazing, smoothed by the precome beading at the tip of Dean's dick. He wanted to get his hands on Cas, too, he fucking needed it. He broke their kiss long enough to gain back enough mental faculty to undo Cas's pants. He was on his knees, straddling Dean, and as soon as his pants started sliding down his hips - no underwear, either, a part of Dean's brain noted appreciatively - Dean leaned forward to tongue at his cock. Cas groaned, loud, the rhythm of his hand faltering as Dean leaned up further to take him into his mouth. He licked down then length as far as he could, the flat of his tongue hot and wet as he dragged it down. Then he closed his lips, sucking hard, and Cas groaned again.

Pleasure spiked as Cas kept at him, and Dean's head swam with the white-hot intensity of half-drunk, unexpected sex. It was _good_ , better than he thought it would be with both of them still half dressed and beyond tipsy, pawing at each other feverishly. Cas had a tang, a bitter, earthy taste to him, and Dean could smell the sweat from his skin, feel the coarse hair at his dick and the trembling, corded muscle of his thighs. Cas spit into his hand and wrapped it back around Dean's dick, pumping fast, his breathing heavy. 

Cas didn't give much warning when he came, trying almost too late to push Dean away. Dean didn't care, though, not much, even as he felt the warm splatter across his lips and cheek. Cas made a beautiful, strangled sound as he came, and that plus his hand was enough to send Dean over the edge, coming hard into Castiel's fist.

Knees shaky, Cas went down, laying on top of Dean. He was heavy, but it was a good, warm weight, and Dean caught his breath to the pulsing rhythm of Cas's heart. He wiped his face and they lay there, silent. 

Maybe it was only for a moment, this one time all the had. Neither felt like talking. They were both lonely, and the brief moment of connection was almost bittersweet. What if it didn't last? These moments never did. But it was good, Dean thought, surrounded by the musky, human scent of another body around him. It was good. And at least for now, he wasn't alone.


End file.
